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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Christmas Days 




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-"EUa^'vot HoYiavcL- 



CHRISTMAS DAYS 



By 
JUDD MORTIMER LEWIS 




NEW YORK 

ROBERT J. SHORES 
PUBLISHER 






Copyright, 19 17 
By Robert J. Shores 



DEC 17 1317 



©CI.A47i)55;^ 



To the Little Mothers of the World this book of 
verse is dedicated. For them no bands play and 
no banners wave, yet the battles they wage for 
their loved ones, call for more fortitude, more 
sacrifice, more suffering, than the soldier en- 
dures upon the field of battle. God be with the 
Mothers of the tvorld, for only as they triumph 
can the world grow better. 

JUDD MORTIMER LEWIS, 



CONTENTS 

CHRISTMAS DAYS IS 

TOO SMALL 17 

JUST BECAUSE I'M HAPPY 20 

POOR SANTA CLAUS 22 

BERNICE 26 

THOUGHT OF RESTING 29 

AT THE SINKING OF THE SUN 32 

IN THE MORNING 35 

TENDER-SWEET 37 

HAS ANYBODY LOST TWO CATS? 39 

TRYING TO EXPRESS IT 42 

NOOKIE KNEW 44 

AN INTERESTING DIZEEZ 48 

AT THE FARM 51 

WHEN BABY HOLLERS PEEK-A-BOO 54 

IN THE NIGHT 57 

BACK TO REALITIES 60 

BACK AGAIN FOR ME 63 

CLIMBERS 66 

THE HILLS 69 

THE BABY WHO ROMPED WITH DAD 73 

A SYMPHONY IN THE MAKING 76 

A SIGN 80 



CONTENTS— Continued 

LUCK, THAT'S ALL 83 

ALL OF THE TIME 86 

GOOD FOR FARMERS 89 

HAPPY HEART 92 

THOSE OLD DAYS BENEATH THE BOUGH.. 94 

ALL'S WELL 98 

GOING BACK 101 

MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 104 

MIRACLES 107 

THE COVERED BRIDGE 110 

THE OLD DIRT ROAD 113 

HOW IT HAPPENED 116 

RAIN-WET 120 

SUGAR LUMPS 123 

JUST GOING TO DAWDLE ALONG THE WAY 126 

THE LONG SWEET-SMELLING DAYS 129 

MACHINE LIMITATIONS 131 

A CASE O' CAN'T HELP IT 133 

IF I HAD MY WAY 135 

TOGETHER 138 

JUST A TOUCH OF LONGING 141 

RESTING WITH NOVEMBER 143 

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 146 



Christmas Days 



CHRISTMAS DAYS 

f^ HRISTMAS days, and Christmas ways 
^^ And, oh, the Christmas weather! 
Little boys and painted toys 

And wee glad girls together; 
And Santa Claus a-flinging things. 

And dancing as he flings 'em; 
Mother crooning Christmas songs 

And laughing as she sings 'em. 

Children's days, and children's ways, 

And green trees decorated 
With red carts and tinsel hearts, 

All wants anticipated! 
Never one wee babe forgot. 

And never one that's slighted! 
Ring-around-a-rosy-time, 

With all the candles lighted! 



15 



Little girls with yellow curls, 

And manly boys to love 'em! 
Mistletoe hung way down low, 

Just bound to get above 'em! 
Love gifts for the older ones, 

And green and scarlet holly, 
Shrieks of glee from everjrwhere, 

In a whole world gone jolly. 

Dinner time, and tots to climb 

Up into chairs beside you. 
Goodies sweet, and things to eat — 

Oh, whatever may betide you 
Christmas with the little folks. 

Filled with joy that bubbles. 
Is worth years of toil and moil 

And worth a year of troubles. 

Christmas nights and lowered lights, 

And tousleheads all sleeping. 
Everywhere on floor and chair 

Toys in careless heaping; 
Dimpled arms all holding tight 

An engine or a dolly — 
Thank God for the Christmas-time, 

And mistletoe and holly! 
16 



TOO SMALL 

OOMETIMES I wish the Lord had 
**^ made me with a whole lot bigger 

heart; 
The one Tve got gets so blamed full o' joy 

sometimes the teardrops start 
With the sweet pain it throbs full of, when 

it's stretched till it's 'bout to break; 
A sort of indescribable, a deep, exquisite 

sort of ache! 
Like if another drop o' joy was poured into 

it, it would bust 
And fill the world with happiness; I sort o' 

feel sometimes I must 
Hop up onto a branch and sing, or simply 

choke with the distress 
That comes o' bavin' a heart made too 

small to hold its happiness. 



17 



If I could only pour it out like a wild bird 

pours out its song, 
It wouldn't be so bad; I could go a-singin' 

of it all day long; 
And that would sort o' take the ache out 

of a heart that's made too small; 
But, shoo! I couldn't keep a tune! I bed 

the horse down in his stall, 
And fill his manger full o' feed, and sort o' 

pat him on the flanks. 
And that's 'bout all that I can do. I ain't 

got language to give thanks; 
And all the critters on the place know me, 

and f oiler at my heels; 
But when a feller's heart's too small, there 

ain't no tellin' how it feels. 

But I talk some; and that is more than what 

the horse can do, or cow; 
If I was shut up like they are I don't know 

what I'd do, or how 
I'd get along; I'd have to quit the farm and 

them and go away; 
I'd have to find me out a place where little 

children never play, 

18 



Where breezes never come at all, and bring 

the Southland's sweet perfume, 
Where cows don't moo, nor horses neigh, 

nor dogs don't bark, nor roses bloom, 
Nor where the yellow sun don't shine, nor 

where the stars don't blink of nights. 
Nor where, when darkness wraps the earth, 

there ain't no cottage window lights. 

An* 'cause there ain't no place like that I'm 

mighty glad that I can talk 
An' tell things to the violets that bloom 

beside the garden walk; 
An' tell things to the cow an' horse, an* 

play with children in the sun. 
An' lift them to the fence to jump into my 

arms, when work is done. 
An* pick the reddest roses for the woman 

that puts up with me. 
Who, when I'm glad, seems to be glad as 

anyone could ever be; 
An' I can whistle some, an' I can fling back 

the wildbird's mornin' call; 
But when a feller's glad as me it hurts to 

have a heart so small. 
19 



JUST BECAUSE TM HAPPY 

f T ain't to please the people that Vm 

*• hollerin' hooray; 

It ain't to wake the world up at the breakin' 

of the day; 
It's just because I'm happy, an' I'm feelin' 
that-a-way 
That I holler like a looney in the mornin*. 

It ain't because the crops are in an' growin' 

in the rains; 
I ain't got out my pencil an' a-figgerin' my 

gains; 
It's because the kids are happy and are 

weavin' daisy chains, 
That I holler like a looney in the mornin*. 

I holler 'cause I'm happy with the things 

of every day, 
I holler 'cause old trouble goes around the 

other way; 

20 



It^s just to please the babies rompin' happy 
at their play 
That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 

That's why I holler mornings when Vm out 

a-hoein' corn, 
Till my voice wakes the crossways like the 

tootin' of a horn, 
To set the echoes chucklin' just as soon as 

they are born 
That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 

To set the echoes rollin*; *tain*t to please 

nobody but 
A little bit o' mother in a little bit o' hut 
With her little bits o' babies, to lighten up 

the rut, 
That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 



21 



POOR SANTA CLAUS 

Y HAVE always had a notion I wished I 

* was Santa Claus, 

I have always had a notion I would like 

to be, because 
It would be such fun a-goin' down the 

chimneys all around, 
Tiptoein' into bedrooms, stoppin' at each 

little sound. 
With my ears pricked up to listen for the 

little fellers* tread, 
Peekin' out between the curtains, peekin' 

into each wee bed, 
Harkin' to the talk of daytimes of each 

eager little tyke, 
An* then, Christmas, fetchin to *em all the 

pretty things they like. 



22 



I have always had a notion I would like to 

get his mail, 
And read every little letter till the stars got 

dim and pale 
Every morning. I imagine he gets just the 

quaintest pile 
Of wee notes that it's no wonder that he 

always wears a smile; 
But I've also got a notion, just a sort of 

faint surmise, 
I can see a little sorrow 'way back in his 

laughin' eyes; 
An' it's that there look of sorrow gets me 

feelin' glad because 
I am only me, and do not have to be a 

Santa Claus. 

I'm a fool! For when the presents had been 

scattered everywhere. 
And been clasped to breasts of babies with 

night's tangles in their hair. 
When 'twas the day after Christmas, the 

morn after Christmas morn, 
With the glad girls with their dollies, with 

the boys each with a horn, 

23 



With the sun a-shinin' brightly, an* with 

glorious New Year's day 
Seemin' to wait for us laughin' only just a 

week away, 
I would turn from it a-sighin', put my 

empty knapsack by. 
An* wish I could take my smile off an* go 

off somewhere an* cry. 

Cry for letters all unanswered, cry for 

stockings all unfilled. 
For child voices raised in hoping, now in 

disappointment stilled, 
I should want to go off somewhere by my 

lonesome just to grieve 
For the little bits o* stockings hanging 

empty Christmas Eve, 
That would hang empty and cheerless by 

the cold grate in the morn 
When with joy the world was ringing and 

the Christmas day was born; 
I would feel bad for the babies with their 

little cheeks tear-wet, 
Standin* grievin* Christmas mornin*, think- 
in* Santa could forget. 
24 



I am glad that Tm not Santa, glad that I 

don't have to be; 
There won't be no little babies Christmas 

morning blamin' me 
'Cause their little baby stockings were all 

empty in the light 
Of the morning, that were hung up filled 

with hoping over night; 
I can feel bad and be grievin' all of Christ- 
mas Day because 
Of the disappointed babies without being 

Santa Claus; 
An' if I was him I reckon I could never 

play the part, 
For the thought of them I couldn't ever 

reach would break my heart. 



25 



BERENICE 

KT EW roses, red roses; so graceful, so tall 

*" ^ That a little girPs head could not top 
them at all; 

So red! as the heart of all color has sped 

To love them and hold them and make 
them so red; 

So fragrant, the fragrance of every known 
bloom, 

The soul of all flowers seems in their per- 
fume; 

Toned down, made exquisite, made fitting 
for you. 

And so they come to you, and sparkling 
with dew 

To make glad your day, make your birth- 
day more sweet. 

And carpet the day with their leaves for 
your feet. 



26 



What would the world be with no red 

roses tall, 
Nor birds in the trees by the wayside, to 

call 
"Good morning," each morning, to greet 

the glad sun. 
To let the world know a new day was 

begun; 
A day of warm sunshine, as yellow as gold; 
A day of red blossoms, dew-laden, to hold; 
A day of glad brooks that go laughing 

along; 
A new day, a glad day, a day brimmed 

with song? 
What would the world be, robbed of 

blossoms and dew? 
And what would life be in a world robbed 

of you? 

A world robbed forever, forever of you; 
The smile on your lips, in your soul, in the 

blue 
Of your eyes. There are times when 

living's a task, 



27 



When we drop to our knees, and fear, and 

we ask 
For rest, only rest! Just to sleep, and for 

long! 
Eyes shut to red roses, ears closed to the 

song 
Of birds in the trees! Then your laugh's in 

the hall; 
Your laugh at the weight of the world; and 

your call. 
We straighten and square for the task 

that's to do; 
And laugh. But our laugh is the courage 

of you. 



28 



THOUGHT OF RESTING 

f CAN shut my eyes and hear it, hear the 
* river calling, calling; 

And can hear the rustling rushes in the 
shallows by the brink, 
And, below, I hear the torrent in its leaping 
and its falling, 
And, above, the spreading rapids where 
the cattle come to drink; 
And the apple trees are laden with their 
red, red globes and golden, 

And I see the fellows playing as they 

used to play with me. 
And the amber colored sunshine, as in 

merry days and olden. 
Comes like largess flung from heaven 

through the branches of the tree. 



29 



Comes like largess flung from heaven, and 
I sigh where I am sitting 
With the autumn all about me, for 
there's silver on my hair, 
And my heart calls to the shadows of the 
old days round me flitting, 
And my ears hark for a hailing that 
comes not from anywhere; 
Oh, heigh-oh, Tm old; I'm leaning like the 
trees my father, felling 
In the forests 'way off yonder, in the 
sunny lands and good. 
Brought to earth; and in my bosom there's 
a voice insistent telling 
I am marked for early resting like the 
old trees in the wood. 

It is good, the thought of resting, it is good, 
the thought of going 
'Way out yonder where the voices of 
the old days call to me; 
For methinks I'll hear the laughter of the 
old days, and the blowing 
Of old springtime-laden breezes through 
the blossom-laden tree; 
30 



And ril lay by as a garment this old husk 
of my souFs fretting, 
And ril set out on the journey with a 
lilting soul and free, 
And they'll run, I know, to meet me for 
their souls know no forgetting. 
And we'll laugh and talk and chatter 
like the boys we used to be. 



31 



AT THE SINKING OF THE SUN 

A RE you happy with the happiness 
*^ That none but daddies know? 
In your singing repertoire 

Have you got a by-o-lo? 
Can you sit still in the evening 

And hear the glad pit-a-pat 
Of the bare feet of a baby 

Hunting where its daddy's at, 
Till it finds you sitting lonely 

And climbs up onto your knee 
In its nightie, just as happy 

As a baby ought to be? 
If you haven't got this pleasure 

At the sinking of the sun 
You have missed a lot of happiness, 

You're out a lot of fun. 



32 



If you haven't got a baby 

You can tousle on the floor 
Till its mother says: "Be careful/* 

And the baby gasps for more, 
If you haven't got a baby 

That will ride a-pick-a-pack 
Hanging to your ears or whiskers 

While it sits astride your back, 
If you haven't got a baby 

That will urge you up the stairs, 
That will fairly shake with chuckles 

When you hurdle over chairs 
You may think your life worth living, 

But you'll know before its done 
You've been running on a side-track 

And have missed a pile of fun. 

It's a little bit of baby 

At the end of every day. 
It's a little bit of baby 

With its little baby way 
Climbing to the knees of daddy 

With its little baby charms. 
With its mouth a-pout for kisses. 

With its dimpled, necklaced arms, 
33 



Makes the jolts and jars of living, 

All the worries that annoy; 
Just the way that leads to gladness, 

Just the way that leads to joy; 
And you'll bear them never thinking 

Till the working day is done, 
For the night-time "Now-I-lay-me," 

And the scrambling and the fun. 



34 



IN THE MORNING 

¥ UST a happy, childish treble, lifting, 
^ lilting down the way; 
Just a burst of happy laughter where the 

little children play; 
Just a squeal, and then a man's voice, in a 
laughing: "Upseday!" 
Just some little babies playing in the 
morning. 

Just a father with his children swinging in 

an old rope swing. 
Swinging high to feel the pleasure of their 

little hands a-cling; 
How their voices lilt and gurgle, how their 
happy accents ring; 
Just some little babies playing in the 
morning. 



35 



Just an earth-floored, cozy playground 

'neath a gnarly liveoak tree; 
Just some little folks pretending they have 

got some friends to tea; 
Just some brown-eyed, blue-eyed babies 
dignified as they can be; 
Just some little babies playing in the 
morning. 

Just a something good to live for; just a 

balm for every smart, 
Just wee baby hands, all dimpled, shaping 

up a fellow's heart; 
Just a dad a-stoop for kisses when the time 

had come to part; 
Just some little babies playing in the 

morning. 

Just one more strong push together, one 

more cry of: "Upseday!" 
Then the place is all deserted where the 

little children play; 
They are at the gate and throwing daddy- 
kisses down the way; 
Just some little babies playing in the 
morning. 

36 



TENDER-SWEET 

IF you use a little lovin* and you use a 

•* little song, 

You will find your world is never gonna go 

so very wrong; 
If you spread a little kindness on the other 

man's distress, 
If you use a little sweetness and a little 

tenderness, 
If you stoop some times to sort of lift 

another feller's load, 
If you do a little dance-step as you go along 

the road. 
You will find that all of these, things you 

have found the time to do 
In some happy form or other will come 

laughin' back at you. 



37 



That*s a pretty good religion; that's the 

kind the Master tried; 
He just chose a way of kindness and of 

sweetness, and He died 
Hanging on the rough spikes, piercing 

through His tender hands and feet, 
And through all that He had suffered still 

His smile was tender-sweet; 
And the way His hurt feet walked in is an 

open way to you, 
But no spikes await you in it; and each 

tender thing you do 
To the fellows all about you in the way you 

go along. 
Will come back to you in laughin' and in 

lovin' and in song. 



38 



HAS ANYBODY LOST TWO CATS? 

fjAS anybody lost two cats? Us hopes 

* * nobody ain't, 

Because two baby cats is here; and they 

was thest as faint 
As they could be when they first came to 

our back yard that day, 
And so us feeded them, we did, and they 

won't go away; 
But mamma says that they ain't not our 

little cats, at all; 
And so us hides them in the shed when 

peoples comes to call. 
And one of us stays there with them so's 

they'll be sure an' stay. 
And does not let them out until the callers 

goes away. 



39 



And when it's me I hold them tight, and 

peek out through a crack 
And watch them till they go away and hope 

they won't come back; 
My mamma says that probably nobody 

wants them much, 
She says there is so many cats nobody cares 

for such; 
But us tells her us cares for cats, at least- 
ways for these two. 
Us don't think no one cares for cats as 

much as usses do; 
For these is speshul kinds of cats, and they 

can almost sing, 
And they've got whiskers and a tail and 

legs, and ever' thing! 

Our mamma says that maybe someone had 

these cats, and they 
Did not want these and took them in a bag 

an' come away 
And putted them in our yard; and my 

mamma says that she 
Would like to have my father catch them 

doin* that, they'd see! 
40 



And she seems kind of fussy, but the cats 

don't seem to mind, 
And usses thinks whoever left them here 

was very kind; 
And the cats both is fat, and goes with us 

'most everywhere, 
And both their tails sticks right straight up 

from them into the air. 

I wish I had a million cats, an' sister wishes, 

too; 
Us has had these cats quite a while, and 

they are good as new ! 
And fatter than when they first come; if 

we'd a million we 
Would give them milkman's milk till they 

were fat as they could be. 
And we would train them till they would 

go with us everjrwhere — 
A million — with a million tails stuck right 

up in the air. 
These is our cats! Now, ain't they fat? 

An* ain't they long an' wide! 
But 'scuse us someone's comin', an' us 

gotta go an' hide. 
41 



TRYING TO EXPRESS IT 

I COULD hop up on a twig 

* If I wasn*t so dern big, 

An* I wasn't so dern stout, 

An* as homely as git-out, 

An' just sing an' sing an' sing, 

Sing out glad as everything; 

Sometimes my soul seems to buzz 

Like an auto's gizzard does. 

Just for gladness! Swear I could! 

Ain't the old world glad and good? 

Ain't the old world glad and good, 
Once you get it understood? 
I ketch myself wishin' that 
I could purr just like a cat; 
I'm so glad sometimes I feel 
Like a pig does; I could squeal. 



42 



Vm so glad! Skies are so blue, 
Winds so sweet an* hearts so true, 
That, I say — *f I wasn't so big 
Vd just hop up on a twig! 

Sometimes, when things starts to rip 
I just pinch my lower lip 
*Twixt my fingers, this-away. 
An' don't have a word to say; 
Never open up my face; 
Then, somewheres about the place 
An old mocker lilts a tune 
Sweeter than the soul of June. 
And a fleck o' sunshine falls 
On my patched old overalls. 

Then the wind stirs in the trees; 
And the hum o' honeybees 
Comes to me; an* far away 
Comes the smell of new-mown hay; 
And the skys keeps gittin* blue 
And someone yells: "Peek-a-boo!" 
Or a baby, hid somewhere 
Laughs, an* there ain't no more care; 
And my glad soul starts to buzz 
Like an auto*s innards does. 
43 



'NOOKIE KNEW 

¥ WENT to ride with " 'Nookie," just the 

'' other night, and she 

Was about as wriggle-twisty as a little girl 

could be; 
For one moment she'd be sitting right 

beside me on the seat, 
And next moment she'd be up and dancing 

gaily on her feet; 
And, it seemed to me, just trying to spill 

out into the road. 
And rd grab her and Td tell her: "Sit 

down there, you little toad!" 
But she'd hop up in a moment with a gur- 
gle-goo of glee. 
And the mischief in her blue eyes would be 

peeping out at me. 



44 



Then I tried to interest her, and asked, as 

we went along, 
If she was the little girl that I had heard 

could sing a song; 
And she tuned up in a moment, her song 

was of "little feet," 
And she cautioned them "be tareful" and 

her voice was mighty sweet; 
And it rippled and it whispered, like the 

night wind in the trees. 
And was sweeter than the buzzing of the 

laden honey-bees; 
It flowed sweeter than the streamlet o*er its 

sunlit pebbles flows; 
But her feet were not too careful, for one 

hit me on the nose! 

Then I asked her when sheM finished, and 

we*d had enough of that, 
(Of the kicking, not the singing) Tell me: 

"Have you got a cat?" 
Don't tell me Tm not a wizard picking out 

a subject! She 
Turned the glory and the gladness of her 

blue eyes onto me, 
45 



And she snuggled up and told me of a 

mother-cat she had, 
And the very talking of it seemed to make 

her more than glad; 
And she told me what she called her, and 

she told me she was sweet, 
And she said that when she teased her she 

had stickers on her feet. 

And then she spoke of the kittens, there 

were four of them in all, 
And they'd chase her through the parlor, 

and romp with her in the hall; 
And one of them was named "Stinny," 

and one "Fatty," and one "Pig," 
And the other, little bit of kitten that was 

not so big. 
Was named "Pussy-Foot," and always, 

she said with her voice of song. 
Or most always, when she went out all her 

cats would go along; 
And she'd hug them up tight to her, and 

they'd sing — she meant they'd purr — 
And what wouldn't sing I wonder snug- 
gled in the arms of her! 
46 



Then I told her she was charming and I 

whispered to her that 
I was glad she had the kittens, glad she 

had the mother-cat; 
Then I asked her what the kittens had on 

them; I questioned her 
Wondering if she'd say hair, or, if she 

knew and would say, "fur," 
And she clapped her hands, and gladness 

shone out of her eyes of blue. 
And I knew in that one moment, as she 

looked up, that she knew! 
And she caught me by the ears and stood 

right up there on my knees. 
And she rubbed her nose on my nose and 

she told me they had "Fleas!" 



47 



AN INTERESTING DIZEEZ 

f T ain't no fun this bein' sick and lyin' 

* here Hke this; 

My mother says that I ain't got *fantile 

paralysis, 
'Cause I can move my toes, and move my 

fingers, this-a-way; 
If I had it I'd lay right still in bed day 

after day 
An' couldn't even turn at all, and couldn't 

move my toes. 
And couldn't hold my handkerchief to help 

me blow my nose; 
It must be funny for a kid to be laid out 

that flat; 
I wonder why God goes and makes diseeziz 

such as that? 

My father, which is very smart, and reads 
'most every night 
48 



Books with the longest words in them, 
which he pernounces right, 

Says folks are made like telephones, and 
central is your head. 

And everywhere through all of you the 
nerves like wires is spread; 

And this ^fantile paralysis which some- 
times comes to town 

Is like a storm which breaks the wires, and 
mebby throws them down 

So central can't communicate with fingers 
or with toes. 

Or legs or arms or anything, to tell them 
how they goes. 

My father he is very smart, and things is 

like he said; 
And my brain's like a little man a-settin' 

in my head, 
A-phonin' me the way to go, and to turn 

out for chairs. 
And phonin' my feet how to go when I 

start for upstairs; 
And this 'fantile paralysis is when the 

wires is down, 

49 



Like that there last big storm we had 
smashed them all over town 

And made the phones go dead; Tm glad 
that I have not got that! 

It's tough enough to be plain sick and 
lyin* where I'm at. 

Since God has made us that-a-way he otto 

made some men, 
Some teentsy men with climbers on, to 

make us well again; 
They could come climbin' up our legs, and 

climb in through our ears. 
And fix our wires so we would not have 

that dizeez for years; 
And when they got us fixed one could call 

from our little toe. 
To Central 'way up in our head, and say, 

"Hello! Hello! 
Ring your bell. Central, till I see if this 

here kid's all right" — 
But I ain't got it; what I got's from green 

plums et last night. 



50 



AT THE FARM 

JkM Y grandpa, he ain*t got much hair ex- 
cept just by his ears, 
And he has lived in this here world for 

years and years and years; 
And he leans on the fence and smiles when 

he looks down at me, 
He says I'm such a little girl as gran'ma 

used to be; 
But it don't seem like grandmas could have 

been just little girls; 
My grandma's face is wrinkled and she's 

got the whitest curls 
I ever saw, but he showed me a picture 

of her, and 
She was a little girl and had a gold ring on 

her hand. 

51 



The picture is on glass, and it's in a gold 

velvet frame, 
And grandpa said it was — I guess I can not 

say the name, 
But it was an old-fashioned kind they 

made when he was small; 
But I would not be proud of it if I had it 

at alL 
I've got a better picture of myself, as big 

as me! 
With yellow curls and with blue eyes, and 

pretty like I be; 
Fm glad that grandma is growed up, and 

grandpa growed up, too, 
I could not love them quite so much if 

they was both so new. 

Folks get more kind as they get old; my 

grandpa is so kind 
That chickens, colts and calves and pigs 

all lag along behind 
When he walks out around the place; and 

on one warm day he 
Was feelin* sleepy so he sat down by an 

ellum tree 

52 



And went to sleep; he says he just stopped 

for a little nap, 
And Molly's colt loved him so much it laid 

down in his lap! 
And when he woke and hollered the colt 

stepped on him, and he 
Had to send for a doctor and he had an 

awful knee. 

But he's all right again, and laughs, and 

says he'll have some chap 
Kodak him sometime with a horse a-settin' 

on his lap; 
And then he lifts me up and we go where 

red clover grows 
And bees are buzzin', and the smell's on 

every breeze that blows; 
And when he finds a great thick patch of 

it he puts me down, 
And says he don't know what he'll do when 

I go back to town; 
But I tell him not to feel bad, that when 

I am away 
I'll write him notes with kisses in and send 

them every day. 
53 



WHEN BABE HOLLERS 
PEEK-A-BOO 

IT^HEN babe hollers peek-a-boo, then 
''' her mother's hiding, too, and her 
grandma's peekin' through 
Fingers interlaced; 
And her grandpa ducks his head under- 
neath the tablespread, and her happy 
dad has fled — 
Fled, in headlong haste. 
For a nook just anywhere, underneath the 
parlor stair, or beneath a near-by 
chair. 
Any kind of nook. 
So it's not so far away as to keep him from 
the play, and each one is hoping they 
Will get the first look. 



54 



For when baby walks around, tippytoe 
without a sound, till some hiding one 
when found, 
Loudly hollers: "Boo!" 
Then there's doings at our shack when the 
baby scuttles back, and your ear- 
drums would 'most crack 
With the loud halloo; 
And she's caught and roundly kissed, dim- 
pled chin and creasy wrist, rounded 
cheek and chubby fist. 
Kissed and kissed again; 
Everybody takes their toll, grandpa ducks 
his shining poll, grandma whispers: 
"Bless her soul!" 
And she's happy then. 

Of a sudden, though her: "Boo!" sends 
them swiftly scuttling to some place 
where they can peek through, 
Watching every turn 
Of the baby as she seeks, as she tippytoes 
and peeks, starry eyes and rosy 
cheeks; 
He would need be stern 
55 



Who could sit unmoved through all, hide 
and seek, and find and call, who her 
happy childish thrall 
Could not, would not feel; 
When a human gets too old, too self-cen- 
tered or too cold, to a babe's form 
long to hold, 
Or enjoy its squeal. 

Then it's time for him to hie out, far out, 
beneath the sky, where white clouds 
and wild birds fly, 
Knowing woe nor ruth. 
And lie close to nature's breast, just to 
feel her moods, and rest by the sum- 
mer winds caressed 
And renew his youth; 
Get afar from gold and bonds, out among 
the swaying fronds of cool ferns by 
shady ponds, 
Till he feels a tug 
Of old nature at his heart, causing it to 
bound and start, causing it to long 
and smart. 
For a babe to hug. 

56 



IN THE NIGHT 

A MOCKING BIRD waked me up last 
** night; 
He was perchin' out where the moon was 

bright. 
An' I think a mockin' bird must have sung 
That kind of a song when the world was 

young, 
An* the trees was young, and the hills, an* 

streams, 
An* love was young with its laughs an* 

dreams; 
He waked me up with the overflow 
From his joyous heart; an* I didn*t know 
What it was that roused me, at first, an* I 
Tried to settle back with a drowsy sigh. 

But would he let me? No sir! his call 
Came through the window, and hit the 
wall, 

57 



Went through the door, and went down 

the stair, 
An' into all of the corners, where 
No music ever had been before; 
Then he sung louder, an' sung some move; 
An' I waked up, an' I thought, "Gee whiz ! 
He's a stemwinder, that feller is!" 
An' I left the bed, an' pulled a chair 
Before the winder, an' sot me there. 

I sot right there for the better part 
Of the night, whilst he spilled out his heart; 
The world was asleep; all the winders dark, 
An' there wasn't no one but me to hark; 
An' the poplars stuck up ag'in' the sky. 
An' the moon was big as a homemade pie, 
An' I was a-hearin' a concert worth — 
Why, there ain't no tellin'! No one on 

earth. 
Not Tetrazzini, could sing like that; 
So I drinked it in, and sat and sat. 

An' there was a song of the long ago, 
An' a little boy with a stonebruised toe. 
An' a river-road, an' a windin' stream, 
58 



An* a covered bridge, an' a boyish dream, 
An* a wispy girl with blue eyes ashine, 
An* two names were carved on a tall old 

pine; 
An* there was glee, an* a world o* hope, 
Then a wee grave on a sun-warmed slope, 
An* then an ache, an* a broken heart, 
An* a pain so keen that tears would start. 

Then in the tune I heard him sing. 
The world and life seemed a little thing; 
I seemed so little I swept along 
Up, up, up, up, on a gust of song; 
The world grew little, an* off as far — 
Far as the littlest, tiniest star; 
Life*s sorrows dwindled an* faded, too. 
Heaven was near an* the skies was blue; — 
The song died down to a little cheep. 
An* mornin* found me right there, asleep. 



59 



BACK TO REALITIES 

WT HEN the new moon is round, an* 
^^ gold as a new pat o* butter; 
An' candlebugs are doin' stunts, and black 

bats (litter-flutter 
Into the porch an* out again, an* there's a 

far off mooin* 
Of cattle in the medder-lot, then there ain*t 

nothin* doin* 
If you are settin* all alone, but jest to go 

a-dreamin* 
Of walks jest wide enough for two, an* 

silver ripples gleamin* 
As they come rushin* to the shore v/ith 

the night breezes after. 
Like happy kids would, an* bust there with 

little lilts o* laughter. 

There's nothin* doin* then, but jest to sort 
o' set an' listen 
60 



Back in the shadders where the big moon- 
flowers nod an* glisten; 
An' pretty soon, away far-off, you'll hear 

glad hoof beats drummin', 
An' by the feelin' in your heart you'll 

know the dreams are comin'; 
An' you will go to meet 'em, an' come with 

them through the flowing 
Clear waters at the ford, an' go wherever 

they are going — 
You would not let the dreams go past an' 

go their ways without you — 
An' first you know, the shapes o' dreams 

are dancin' all about you. 

One is the boy you chummed with when 

life's paths were all before you; 
Jest harum-scarum boyish chums, with 

blue skies archin' o'er you; 
An* you loved one another, too, but he 

stopped way back yonder, 
An' in amongst your dreams you sit with 

a hurt heart, and ponder 
The question you oft ask yourself, you with 

the years grown mellow, 
61 



If he, beyond the farthest star, is still the 

little fellow 
You used to know an^ love, or if he's still 

been growin*, growin*, 
So that your wrinkles an' grsty hair won*t 

put you past his knowin\ 

An' then a laugh within the house, a glee- 
ful pitter-patter. 
An' rushin' little white-robed forms send 

all your dreams a-scatter! 
An' babies romp onto your knees, to say 

their, "Now I lay me," 
An' all the thin dream shapes are gone; 

and fades out laughin' Jamie, 
The comrade of your boyish pranks, an' 

you are left a-holdin' 
A bunch o' babies that care not for fumin' 

or for scoldin'; 
Because they know it's all a joke. Dreams 

of old days are pleasin'. 
But laughin', lovin' babies are far better 

worth one's squeezin'. 



62 



BACK AGAIN FOR ME 

T THINK I'd best pack up my duds and 

* tell the town good-by, 

And leave the pall of smoke behind; and, 
out beneath the sky, 

Go off along the country road, the wind- 
ing road I know, 

I came along so bravely just a little year 
ago; 

Go back to the broad meadow, to the call- 
ing of the stream. 

The little room beneath the eaves in which 
I used to dream, 

The birdsong of a morning, and the sweet 
scent of the pine. 

And all the joys that wait out there for me 
to call them mine. 



63 



The smoke's so dark above me that I can 

not see the stars; 
I want to see the cattle stand a-callin* at 

the bars; 
I want to wake at morning with the old 

familiar sounds. 
And not the slammin', bangin' as the milk- 
man makes his rounds; 
I want the smell of clover makin' all the 

noonday sweet; 
I am weary, weary, weary of the clinging 

asphalt street, 
And I will be more happy than I was a 

year ago 
If I can walk at starlight with a maid I 

used to know. 

The city girls are different, they are thin 
and ground by toil; 

They are weary every evening of the day- 
long stress and moil; 

Their poor cheeks are so hollow, and their 
eyes such somber wells — 

Oh, Vm bound to leave the city, and its 
reeking shops and hells! 
64 



And Vm goin' to the country where the 

fields are wide and green, 
And no smoke-clouds hide the heavens, 

and the winds are cool and clean, 
And the girls are plump and happy, with 

their hair in ribbon-bows, 
And they dimple into laughter, and their 

cheeks are like the rose. 

I have had my year-long lesson, and it's 

back again for me! 
To the gladness of the hill-tops, to the 

spring beneath the tree; 
To the high blue sky at noontime; and at 

night the blinking stars, 
And the cattle standing calling, in the 

evenin* by the bars; 
I've had my fill of the city, and I want the 

clover-bloom. 
And the winding country highway, and the 

honeybee's ba-zoom; 
I will trade the mighty city, with its shops 

and streets aglow. 
For the glinting eyes and laughter of a 

country girl I know. 
65 



CLIMBERS 

T^HE road gits ruther warmish an* it's 
^ climbin' all the time; 
But we ought to be a-thankin' God weVe 

got the strength to climb; 
When there's boulders in the pathway that 

we have to work around, 
When weVe passed a bit o* goin' that we 

feared would get us downed, 
When the slippin' an* the slidin' of the 

slopes are passed and by, 
We should sing a song o' gladness that we 

had the heart to try; 
'Course the road was steep and warmish, 

an' we had to climb an' crawl. 
But the road goes always upward that leads 

anywhere at all. 



66 



Course the grime an' sweat of climbin' an* 

the weariness was great; 
Course we sometimes felt the longin* to 

set in the shade an* wait 
Till the gentle evenin' breezes brought a 

coolness to our cheek; 
But if we're amongst the winners, we kept 

pluggin' at the peak 
Till it kept a-growin' nearer, an', almost 

before we knew, 
We was reachin' for the blossoms that 

stood out ag'in the blue, 
We was settin' in the shadow listenin' 

to the gentle croon 
Of the wild birds, an' a-breathin' in the 

sweet perfume o' June. 

If you're on the road a-climbin', or have 

reached the very top- 
But you haven't — thank the Maker there 

ain't any place to stop; 
If you lived through all the ages there 

would still be heights to climb; 
There would be a little something that 

you could do all the time; 
67 



There would be a weaker brother who must 

tote a bigger load; 
There might be a weaker sister who was 

laggin' in the road; 
It might be just a wee baby separated from 

its dad, 
Waitin' for your arms to squeeze it, an* 
your kiss to make it glad. 

So, however dust is blowing so, however 

steep the ways. 
Though the road gits ruther warmish in the 

peltin' of the rays. 
If you keep head up, eyes forward, to the 

line ag'in the skies 
You will find the perspiration will not run 

into your eyes; 
If you slow up to be helpin* someone else 

to make the climb, 
You won*t notice the road's roughness nor 

its danger, half the time; 
And the joy of every boulder you climb 

over, by and by 
Will keep you a-thankin* Heaven that you 

had the strength to try. 

68 



THE HILLS 

TPHERE^S nothing so good as the hill- 
'' tops that rise 
Till they're covered with snow and tints of 

the skies 
Lie on 'em; there's nothin' so good as they 

are! 
I look o'er the miles to the hills where they 

are, 
Like sentinels standin' ag'in' the blue skies, 
And hot tears of longin' well into my eyes. 
The hills! oh, the hills, with their summits 

of snow! 
Their scars and their chasms I never may 

know; 
And God's in the mountains! His voice is 

the tone 
Of torrents down tearing by shoulder and 

stone. 



69 



The hills! Oh, the hills! The snow-capped 

hills for mine! 
The bare rocky peaks far above the last 

pine! 
The white virgin snow where no man ever 

trod! 
The peaks and the silences vibrant of God! 
Above all the toil and the stress and the 

strife, 
The petty small threads that are woven in 

life, 
The sorrow and heartache, the stress and 

the care. 
The ages-old woman with grey in her hair 
Who begs on the comer, the bandit who 

lurks 
To spoil of his earnings his fellow who 

works. 

The hills ! Oh, the hills, with their mantles 
of snow! 

Their heaven-born winds and their tor- 
rents that flow 

And call through the silence uproarious 
and far, 

70 



And fling around boulder and barrier and 

bar, 
Until they go laughing and careless and 

free 
Down smooth level highways that lead to 

the sea; 
The hills are all white and the hills are 

all clean, 
And only the valleys and lowlands are 

mean; 
The hills are God's highways, man walks 

on the plain, 
An atom, soul-shackled, bowed down in 

his chain. 

And yet, if I could would I leave it and go, 
Climb up to the hills from the valleys be- 
low, 
Climb up to the silences, icy and vast, 
Leave men I have fought with, the men I 

have passed 
With laughter and hail as we journeyed 

along. 
The beggar I helped with a lilt and a song, 



71 



The beggar below on the corner, whose 

eyes 
Unseeing, seem always to gaze on the 

skies? 
Leave the toil and the strife, the resting 

and glee? 
No! the hills are for God; the valleys for 

me! 



72 



THE BABY WHO ROMPED WITH 
DAD 

f\ H, little girl, with the braids grown 
^^ long, 

And the laughing lips and heart of song, 
And the slim cool hands, each night you 

wait 
As you once did by the arbored gate, 
But when your daddy turns in the street 
No more you scamper on dancing feet. 
With wind-blown curls, and your arms 

out, so, 
As you did ever so long ago. 

Now you stand waiting him, tall and 

and straight 
And self-possessed; and you swing the 

gate 
To let him through, and you tippytoe 
For his kiss, and arm in arm you go 

73 



Up the long walk where the red rose bends, 
Each rose on its stalk and you are friends, 
You smile at the world, and it looks glad; 
But where is the baby who romped with 
dad? 

Where is the babe with her rush and shout, 
Her hair blown wild, and her arms held 

out; 
With the wee hurt where she slipped and 

fell 
Which but the kiss of her dad made well? 
She stands wide-eyed with her lips apart. 
Her hands clasped over her fluttered heart; 
With fluffy curls in a shining strand, 
And gazes into the grown-up land. 

And just last evening a tall youth stood 
By the gate with her; the distant wood 
Shone green and gold in the setting sun; 
A bird in its shady depths, just one, 
Trilled a low note to departing day; 
She stood and watched when he turned 
away; 



74 



Then ran, arms wide, where her father 

smiled. 
And clung to him like a little child. 

He knew; and, knowing, his eyes grew 

dim. 
How much that loving was meant for him; 
That night he stood by her snowy bed 
As she slept, one arm 'neath her little head. 
And thought long thoughts, and his heart 

was sad 
For the wee girl who had run to dad 
With a glad shout on those far off nights, 
For kiss-healed bruises and pillow-fights. 



75 



A SYMPHONY IN THE MAKING 

f^ OD is planning greater wonders, as a 

^*^ player o'er the keys, 

Going thoughtfully and slowly brings the 

world new melodies. 
As a dreamer, eyes before him, through 

starvation, hurt, and ruth, 
Brings his dream where men may grasp it, 

hold it, know it for the truth, 
God is picking through the ages from the 

hearts of vibrant strings 
Things but yesterday unthought of, what 

to-day are undreamed things; 
And the world grows ever better, cries 

grow fainter, die away. 
As the eyes of stumbling mortals catch 

the dawning of the day. 



76 



As musicians build their music, toning, 

cutting out discord, 
So the work goes on forever in the work- 
shop of the Lord; 
The whole universe His keyboard, planets 

far beyond our ken 
And beyond them other planets, and then 

more as far again. 
And, twice farther, other planets ; each has 

some place in the score; 
Though the throbbing comes but faintly, if 

we listen more and more, 
If we tune our ears to catch it, it shall come 

near and more near: 
If our hearts are kept unsullied and we 

hearken we shall hear. 

Till in time all men shall hear it come tri- 
umphant to- their ears. 

Through the interstellar spaces catch the 
music of the spheres; 

And the weeping of the children, and the 
grieving of the sad. 

And the moan of those who hunger, and 
the growl of men made mad 
77 



By the grinding and the squeezing of the 

cruel hands of greed 
Shall be hushed to catch the music; and 

whatever god or creed 
Men may have, if they but labor with their 

eyes turned to the dawn 
They shall step forth into glory when the 

darker days are gone. 

Those who trample on their passions, turn 

their backs on lust and greed; 
Men who turn to help a brother who is 

crying in his need; 
Men who help to take the babies from the 

spindle and the loom 
To wide fields where summer breezes stir 

the blossoms to perfume; 
Men who govern them with loving, who 

protect the baby limbs 
From the thoughtless blow are helping 

shape the gladdest of God^s hymns; 
They are teaching love, are treading where 

the spike-pierced feet have trod; 
They are helpers to the Master; they're in 

partnership with God. 
78 



And it all shall roll together, throb to- 
gether, reach above, 

Up to where the Great Musician with more 
than men know of love 

Lets his hands glide o'er the keyboard till 
he finds the sought-for time 

Sweeter than the smell and gladness of ten 
million years of June; 

And men, soul attuned, shall hear it com- 
ing faintly to their ears; 

Though the very sweetness of it may suf- 
fuse their eyes with tears, 

Yet the tears shall be of gladness, gushing 
from long hidden springs; 

Love, just love, may touch the keyboard, 
love, just love, vibrate the strings. 



79 



A SIGN 

'T'HE work ain't goin' so good, some- 
* how, 

I heard a whistle an' looked just now, 
An' — well, I pushed all my work aside; 
The city's streets were as big an' wide 
As the prairies were, an' buildings tall 
Had dwindled till they wa'n't there at all; 
The magic of it was something queer 
For, for the moment I was not here. 

I turned my head when I heard the sound, 
And my eyes lit, an' I looked around. 
An' after searchin' I seen him there. 
With a sunburned neck an' brick-dust hair. 
An' his smudgy face, an' freckled nose. 
An' his ragged pants, an' eager pose. 
With his eyes alight, and feet apart — 
I loved him so it most hurt my heart. 

80 



He held his fingers up, this-a-way, 
Like I held my fingers yesterday, 
Just held them up, like two rabbit ears. 
And them an' the whistle knocked the 

years 
Plum off of me; as they slipped aside 
I was a kid, an' as eager-eyed 
As the kid there on the corner was; 
It hits folks funny, remembrance does. 

As I stepped out of the years ag'in, 
With a boyish heart an* face a-grin, 
I stuffed my fingers into my mouth 
And the soft wind from the blossomed 

south 
Caught my call, shrill as it used to be, 
An' Redhead heard it an' looked at me; 
I raised two fingers an' signed to him 
That I'd play hooky an' go an' swim. 

And then the boy in the ragged clothes 
Stuck his small thumb 'gainst his snubby 

nose, 
An' wiggled his fingers, so; an' you 
Can bet I knew what that sign meant, too; 
81 



An' then he stuck out his tongue, he did, 
The derned little, redhead, smudge-faced 

kid! 
And then the city came back once more. 
With all its rattle and rush and roar. 



And years came back as he turned away, 
And work came back, and the streaks of 

gray 
Came back again in my thinning hair; 
I looked again and he wasn't there. 
The redhead kid with the sign I knew, 
That meant: "Go swimmin'?" to me an' 

you 
When we was kids, but that sign an* smile 
Had made me glad for a little while. 



82 



LUCK, THATS ALL 

f T ain't good sense to raise your head an' 

* tell what you would do 

If things that's happened to your friends 

would happen-up to you; 
It ain't good sense to scorn another feller 

if he falls, 
There ain't no tellin' what you'll do if the 

fool-killer calls; 
An' if a feller strays aside into a crooked 

way 
You oughtn't point him out at all, nor have 

a word to say; 
You ought to thank your lucky stars it 

wa'n't you jumped the track, 
An' give the other chap a lift an' try to 

coax him back. 

For when it comes to stubbin' toes the last 
word's never said, 

83 



An' no man can be sure he's safe until he's 

safely dead; 
Nobody wants to leave the straight to go 

the crooked way; 
There wasn't ever anyone that pined to 

go astray; 
Some fellers can't go head held up an' lilt 

a bit o' song 
An' laugh temptation down the wind; 

some fellers ain't so strong, 
Perhaps, as you have proved yourself; but, 

when the best is said. 
You ain't so sure you're strong yourself 

until you're safe an' dead. 

That's why you ought to, when you run 

across a derelict, 
Someone whose life is full of falls, whose 

soul is scarred and nicked. 
Go up an' slap him on the back and give 

him howdy-do. 
An' thank the God that made you both the 

falls were not for you; 
For he was weak where you are strong; 

be tender when you speak, 
84 



For everybody's coat of mail has got a spot 

that's weak; 
An' that yours hasn't been found out don't 

prove it can't be struck; 
The only thing it proves at all is that you've 

been in luck. 



85 



ALL OF THE TIME 

A LL of this life is a lovable joke; 
*^ Sleep through it, eat through it, drink 

through it, smoke. 
Laugh through it, love through it, dance 

through it, sing — 
Any old way it's a lovable thing! 
Walk through it, crawl through it, auto 

along. 
Ever and always it bubbles with song! 

Always the sun on a hill or a tree, 
Always a baby that gurgles with glee, 
Always a mother a baby makes glad. 
Always somewhere there's a home-coming 

dad, 
Always someone flings a beggar a dime — 
Lovable, life is, and alt of the time. 



86 



Blind? There are songs filled with love for 

your ears, 
Heart notes which only the blinded one 

hears. 
Deaf? You can sing as you go down the 

way, 
Songs in your heart of the glad yesterday; 
Loved ones about you to press to your 

side — 
It's lovable, life, however you're tried. 
Deaf, dumb, and blind? There's a lovable 

squeeze 
The mortal who hears, who talks, and who 

sees 
Can't gauge the joy of, when it goes about 
Your shoulders. You know your heart 

gives a shout, 
And throbs with a gladness that makes it 

expand — 
A lovable life? All of it; and grand! 
Poor? Then God's pictures are hung on 

the skies; 
Hues of God's blossoms are free for your 

eyes; 



87 



Streams sing for you, and the night comes 

with sleep — 
YouVe not a vault to watch over and 

keep — 
You can laugh, love and sleep; romp, run, 

and climb; 
Lovable, life is, and all of the time! 



88 



GOOD FOR FARMERS 

HP HIS mornin' when I milked the cow, 
*• before I started off for town, 
I had to take her by the horns an' tail an* 

turn her upside down, 
An* milk her that way; yes sirree! it*s 

rained so doggone much an* long 
I*ve ordered me a submarine. I tell you 

I'm a-gettin* strong 
For sunshine an* for dusty roads an* things 

like that, doggone the luck! 
Why, I ain*t got a rooster that ain*t wishin* 

he was hatched a duck; 
An* mud? There*s mud on everything! 
There*s mud on all my suits of clothes. 
An* I have paddled *round so much I*m 

gettin* webs between my toes! 
But what makes me more doggone m»d 

than anything makes me, I vow. 



89 



Is this here line of talk I hear: ''This suits 
you farmers, anyhow." 

"This suits you farmers!" Do folks think 

Vm runnin* me a frog-farm here, 
Or raisin* waterlilies? Say, some folks* 

idees are mighty queer! 
Town folks think farmers got to have their 

farms wet down so they can wade! 
I wonder if folks think that I am raisin' 

tadpoles for the trade? 
If it keeps rainin' this-a-way a little longer, 

garden truck 
Won*t do for me, V\\ have to go to plantin* 

eels, or buy a duck; 
And have to trade my cows and horse and 

all such things, it makes me fuss. 
And go somewhere where I can get a herd 

of hippopotamus. 
The water is so doggone deep that all the 

bull-frogs has been treed. 
An' cattle has to ketch their breath and 

dive to get a bit of feed. 



90 



An' wife can't get to go to town to shop, 

an' the kid's eyes are full o' tears; 
The water is so doggone deep the mules 

are breathin' through their ears! 
And still town folks say: "This is good for 

people livin' on the farm." 
That shows you how much sense they got! 

I ain't a-wishin' them no harm, 
Doggone their skins! but I would like to 

have them here with me a spell, 
An' make them help me do the chores; 

they wouldn't think I fared so well 
As they appear to think I do. Town folks 

do have the queer idees! 
I'm 'fraid I'll have to plant my corn up 

in the crotches of the trees; 
Why, just this mornin', 'fore I fixed to 

hitch and to drive into town, 
I had to swim to ketch the cow, and milk 

the critter upside down! 



91 



HAPPY HEART 

jut AID EN, with the parasol, 
*'* Maiden, with the lilting call, 
Maiden, with the graceful poise. 
Maid with all of the glad world's joys 
Bubbling in your heart until 
Laughter seems to overspill 
From your eyes in glinting glee, 
You're a world of joy to me! 

Yes you are! Your glinting eye 
As you daily pass me by. 
Drifting light as thistle-down, 
Seems to light up the old town; 
And the gladness of your smile 
Makes all work and life worth while. 
Just your glee and youth and grace 
Make the world a gladsome place. 



92 



Roses red and glories blue, 
They were all contrived for you; 
If I were a honey-bee, 
Don't you know, it seems to me 
I would dare death for a sip 
At your curved mischievous lip; 
Being but an old man, I 
Merely watch you drifting by. 

What can people care at all 
For the mocker's lilting call? 
If God blessed me with a choice 
I would always hear your voice 
Lilting happily and free; 
That would be enough for me. 
All the joy life ever knew 
Bubbles in the heart of you. 



93 



THOSE OLD DAYS BENEATH THE 
BOUGHS 

Q AY, do you recall the rock in the tor- 

^ rent where you played 

When a little bit o* boy? How the syca- 
more's wide shade 

Covered it an' made it cool in th' hottest 
kind o* day, 

How you used to, sprawled on it, let vaca- 
tions drift away? 

How you builded castles tall that reached 
almost to the blue? 

But let's not recall the dreams, for so few 
of them came true; 

Let us not recall the dreams, far too grand 
for you and me. 

Let us only just go back to the days that 
used to be; 



94 



They were fairer than our dreams ever 

could be, ever were. 
Those old days beneath the boughs where 

the branches used to stir. 

Did you ever catch the crab, the big one 

that used to dwell 
Underneath the sloping side of the rock 

you loved so well? 
Have you ever gathered berries that half 

way could compare 
With the red, luscious berries that you 

gathered *way back there 
On the slope above the stream, berries big 

an* wet with dew? 
Do you ever taste a fruit whose rare flavor 

brings to you 
Like a movin* picture scene, all the joys 

you used to know, 
The big rock above the stream where you 

used to love to go. 
An* the laughter of the boys *way back 

there with whom you played. 
An' almost knee-deep shallows where you 

used to love to wade? 
95 



Where you used to fish for minnows while 

waters used to swish, 
And you would sit there breathless, fear- 
ing lest you scare the fish; 
It was fun to throw your duds on the rock 

an' dare the tide, 
Almost deep enough to swim, an' to splash 

from side to side 
Playing tag, splashing water in the other 

fellows* eyes; 
Do you ever, sitting lonely, when daylight 

fades and dies 
See the road go winding round up the hill 

and far away 
To the home that waited you at the end of 

every day? 
Is the home that waited you up and over 

the big hill 
Lost to you forever, is a strange foot upon 

its sill? 

And I wonder if you can, if you try, recall 

once more 
How you labored all one day till your 

hands were bruised and sore 
96 



With a rock and a big nail, till you'd 

graven big and deep 
The initials of your name? Those initials 

meant a heap 
To the boy away back there, the glad boy 

you used to be. 
The wee boy who used to sprawl on the 

rock beneath the tree; 
Have you ever had a longin' to go back 

where you were, 
Where you carved your name that day, 

where the branches used to stir? 
If you have, don't you do it! Keep the 

memory as fair 
As it was when you were glad and a part 

of it back there. 



97 



ALL WELL 

OEFORE Bill upped an* married an* 

'^ left the old home farm 

Vm *fraid that I was most too strict; there 

wasn*t any harm, 
I don't suppose, in lettin* him take Molly, 

meetin* nights 
An* take his sweetheart ridin*, when the 

rosy northern lights 
Was lightin' up the heavens, an* the old 

earth down below. 
An* makin' rosy flickers on the heaps o* 

drifted snow; 
But I never let him take her, an* it used to 

make him cross; 
I reckon I thought *most too much o* that 

old Molly-hoss. 

So — mother called him William, like the 
most o* mothers will, 
98 



Though to me an' all the hired hands his 

name was only Bill — 
Bill went his way, an' I went mine, th' way 

I'd made the start; 
An' day by day an' year by year we growed 

more far apart; 
An' when he took his girl out for a snug- 

glin' moonlight hike 
Across the hills he didn't git the hoss that 

he would like. 
But mostly took a plow-hoss, just a heavy 

ploddin' plug. 
Although I know a plow-hoss takes one 

safest through a hug. 

An' now he's married. I declare ! It's been 

almost a year! 
An' mother's settin' in the house, an' I'm 

a-settin' here 
An' feelin' sort of lonesome, sort of like 

I'd missed the mark 
A-raisin' our one chicken — an' I'm headed 

toardst the dark. 
An' Bill'll get the farm some day, an' plow 

the furrows, too, 
99 



Across the fields I used to plow an* tried 

to plow so true; 
I guess I thought too much of all the fields 

I had to till, 
An' too much of oV Molly-hoss, an' skurce 

enough o* Bill. 

I oughter made a chum o' him, he can't 

care fur his dad, 
Or love me like he wouldVe done, I reckon, 

if I had; 
I was plum wrong — Is that Bill's hoss 

a-comin' down the hill! 
Good heavens! Somethin's happened! 

God! don't let it be to Bill! 
Why, that's Bill's self a-drivin' — like his 

coattails was afire! 
Good gracious! Don't that youngster think 

that hosses never tire? 
What's that? You've got a baby! And 

you've named it after me? 
You did— why, Bill!— I didn't think— 

I'm proud as I kin be! 



100 



GOING BACK 

QOME day Til fill up my pipe an' slip 

•^ into an old coat an* go 

Until I come to a little town, a little old 

town I know; 
Where the dusty road winds round an* 

down an' comes to a burblin' stream 
An* trees 'way off on the distant hills are 

touched by the sunset gleam 
Until their green takes the hue of gold, an' 

out of the distance still 
Comes the faint note of the nightbird's 

call, the plaint of the whippoorwill; 
An' there I'll meet the friends I knew in 

the days that are past an' gone; 
The boys, they're ruther old boys today, 

I met at the gates o' dawn. 



101 



There wasn't one in the old home town but 

who was as close as kin; 
I never knocked at a door back there, I 

whistled an* went right in; 
An' there were cookies, I taste them now, 

the mothers o' those days made; 
They always kept them on hand for boys, 

an' there was a creek to wade. 
An' barns an' lofts where a boy could romp 

an' put in a rainy day. 
Or sneak a copy of Deadwood Dick to read 

on the smelly hay; 
An' so I'm thinkin' I'll go back there, to 

the old home town sometime, 
Where I know each song of the bouldered 

creek, an' there is a hill to climb. 

An' I will slip off the train back there, an' 

mix with the old time crowd. 
An' get my name in the paper, too; an* 

maybe I won't be proud! 
That's been my aim for these many years, 

to get in the old home sheet; 
"One of our home boys," it will say, an' 

each friend o' my youth I meet 
102 



Will say: "I seen you was back in town 

in an editorial; say, 
By jing, old feller, it seems to me you're 

gettin' a little gray!" 
An* that will be by way of a joke; Til 

laugh as I used to do; 
But it ain't much of a joke, because I know 

in my heart it's true. 



103 



MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 

>np WERE fine upon these July nights 

* to wander far away, 
To leave the work and worry and the cares 

of every day, 
To leave the town behind one and go out 

where winds are cool, 
To where a tree throws shadows deep 

across a bayou pool. 
And there lie prone upon the grass and 

watch the stars come out 
Where only just the noises of the night 

are all about. 
And candle-bugs flit all about, and frogs 

call from the pool 
And all the wide world seems at peace, and 

all the world seems cool. 



104 



To just lie sprawled out on the grass and 

hear the owl's to-whoo, 
'Way out where not a city voice brings any 

fret to you, 
And all the world is sweet with peace, and 

winds are in the trees, 
And lullabies of old seem to come to you 

on the breeze; 
To lie there and to just forget that days 

are full of toil. 
That the tomorrow will come in with sweat 

and rush and moil; 
Forget the town, forget the toil, forget the 

things to do. 
And just imagine that the night and stars 

were made for you. 

Just hypnotize yourself; forget the price of 
ham and eggs; 

Sip lightly of life's brimming cup, forget 
the bitter dregs; 

Forget life's hurts, forget false friends, for- 
get life's jolts and jars; 

Just yield yourself to the cool night and let 
it heal your scars; 
105 



Just put your hands behind your head and 
dream of bygone days, 

A little girl you knew of old, and old re- 
membered ways; 

And things she said, and things you said, 
and how you held her hand. 

And life seemed set to a sweet tune and all 
the world seemed grand. 

The city is a fearsome place; the city streets 

are hot; 
Go wander off across the dark, across the 

meadow-lot. 
And find a place no other one has found, 

and watch the trees 
Stand dark against the summer sky or 

gently feel the breeze 
And sway in rhythm to its song, and watch 

the ripples flow 
Beneath the stars right to your feet as in 

the long ago 
They used to flow, and feel again all the 

old-time delights, 
And then go back made strong, and armed 

to fight a thousand fights. 
106 



MIRACLES 

QOME folks make me tired! Their argu- 
^ ments 

Is so derned lackin' any kind o^ sense 
That I can't argue with them! I won't try! 
I wave 'em to one side an' pass 'em by. 
If they'd confine theirselves to politics — 
But I git crosser than a pair o* sticks 
When they knock at religion, an' they say: 
"Why ain't there any miracles to-day?" 

Why ain't there any miracles to-day! 
When the sun rises can a feller say 
That ain't a miracle? An' when the moon 
Lights up the night, an' the air smells o' 

June, 
And all the world is bubblin' full o' love, 
It makes me wonder what they're thinkin' 

of! 

107 



An' when October comes an* paints the 

trees! 
If miracles are wanted what are these? 

The mornings an* the nights, the wavin* 
trees. 

The lights that lies on mountains, plains, 
an' seas; 

The bu'stin' buds o' spring, the changin' 
fall, 

The little streams a-singin', an* the call 

Of birds, far-sent from some woodland re- 
cess, 

A father's love, a mother's tenderness. 

The tall red cannas that dip down an' 
sway — 

And yet there ain't no miracle to-day! 

And then we go a-tippytoe some morn 
To where a little baby, newly born. 
Is lyin' like a crumpled rose leaf lies. 
As pink an' pure, an' in its vi'let eyes 
A look of reminiscence of far things. 
Of heaven-slopes an' of white angel-wings, 

108 



And things that weVe been here till weVe 

forgot — 
No miracles today! Who says there's not? 

Why, every babe's a miracle, I know! 
Two of 'em call me Daddy; when you go 
An' stand beside a newborn baby's bed 
Its eyes tight shut in sleep, its fluffy head 
So light it hardly dents the piller, you 
Are gazin' on a miracle; a few 
Can't seem to see it, but it ain't unkind 
To tell em' when they can't, by jing, 
they're blind! 

When a new baby, where it's lyin' at 
Laughs in its sleep until it shakes its fat, 
Just laughs an' laughs an' chuckles, don't 

you s'pose 
There's somethin' that that little baby 

knows 
That it ain't had no time to learn on earth. 
That makes it shake its side for all its 

worth? 
There's miracles to burn, big ones an* 

small, 
But a new babe's the grandest one of all. 
109 



THE COVERED BRIDGE 

"TPHE new steel bridge across the crick's 
* a pritty thing to see, 
As gauzy and as spidery as any bridge 

could be; 
It's floor's just like a solid road, cemented 

good an' tight, 
An' it's all painted red, an' it's a ruthev 

pritty sight; 
But it don't have no charms fer me, don't 

please me not at all; 
The crick goes gurglin' just the same, an' 

givin' the old call, 
An' singin' comes along an' slips beneath 

the river road; 
But the new bridge ain't like the bridge, 

the covered bridge we knowed. 

We used to climb the slipp'ry rocks that led 
up to the ridge, 
110 



An* stump each other divin* off o* that old 

covered bridge; 
I learned to swim in its cool shade in the 

old swimmin' hole, 
An' used to sit beneath it with my can o' 

worms an' pole 
An' Bsh fer pouts an' suckers, an' fer cats 

th' hull day long, 
Whilst all the time the crick went by a-sing- 

in' of its song; 
An' so the new bridge don't fill up the place 

the old bridge did, 
The covered bridge we romped in when I 

was a little kid. 

The covered bridge our voices went a-roll- 

in', boomin' through. 
Almost a-scarin' of ourselves each time we 

hollered, "boo"; 
An' 'twas the dearest courtin' place that all 

the country knew. 
An' lovers walked from miles around to 

meet an' bill an' coo 
In its brown shadows, an' each day 'twas 

dark enough, you wis 
111 



Fer two to pause, an* heart to heart, 

exchange a lovin' kiss; 
An* Maggie*s name was carved in it with 

my name, side by side; 
I carved them there while she looked on, 

the day she was a bride. 

The day she was a bride — Oh, that was very 

long ago! 
Our children all played in its shade, an*, 

when the lights git low, 
I hear their footsteps romp an* dance 

across its soundin* floor. 
An* hear the happy laughter of the ones 

that come no more; 
An* through its arches many times a slow 

procession wound. 
An* to the buryin* ground beyond, where, 

each beneath a mound, 
Our little children lie asleep beside their 

ma. To me 
The new bridge ain*t so pritty as the old 

bridge used to be. 



112 



THE OLD DIRT ROAD 

f\ H, the old dirt path that was almost 

^^ overgrowed 

With the grass and the bushes by the old 

dirt road 
That went windin' in an* out by the old 

rail fence, 
It's a-callin' to me now. It's a long time 

sence 
I have walked in the dust that was soft 

to my feet, 
Like a carpet o' velvet, an* night air so 

sweet 
Just breathin' it in was a everlastin' joy. 
Just breathin' of it in, an' bein' just a boy! 

Oh, the old dirt road! How it wound from 

side to side! 
'Twas just a narrow track, an' the world 

was so wide 

113 



There was hardly no use for the old road 

at all, 
But the robins 'ud build, an' orioles *ud 

call 
Along its twisty length where it wound in 

an* out — 
Once it turned by a pool that was plum 

full of trout, 
Once it turned in a field to a spring by 

a tree; 
Just an old dirt road, as contented as 

could be. 

A lazy, good-for-nothin* careless kind o* 

road! 
I can see it now, an' the weeds that over- 

growed 
Its edges, an' berries that in season 'ud 

hang 
From bushes in corners where wildbirds 

hid an* sang — 
See it like it wound, white an' misty 'neath 

the stars. 
Hear cattle callin* as they gether by the 

bars! 

114 



Tm homesick to go to it! Homesick as 

can be! — 
It's always, forever, a-callin', callin' me. 



115 



I 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

WOULDN'T have dasted ask her if Td 

stopped to think at all; 
But the glory vines was climbin' in a riot 

on the wall, 
An' I had picked up Jones' boy, a little 

an' barefoot tad, 
An' had took him walkin' with me cause it 

always made him glad 
For to have a grown-up notice him, 

espeshly if 'twas me; 
So we cantered off together. No one seein' 

us would be 
Ap' to think I was a bachelor, satisfied an* 

plum resigned 
To his state, an' knowed all over as the 

woman-hatin' kind. 



116 



An* Tad trotted on beside me with his hand 

hold of my hand, 
His feet an' tongue a-goin', both of 'em, to 

beat the band; 
An' afore I was suspectin' it, the thought 

snuck up on me 
That when fellers without babies gits as 

old as they can be, 
An' ain't got no kin to love 'em, an' ain't 

got no little kids 
To hold in their arms an' croon to night- 
times when the katydids 
Is a-chirpin' in the thickets, an' the moon's 

a-shinin' through 
The tall trees, an' night-birds holler, what 

in God's name do they do? 

What in God's name do they do at all, an' 

what can they be worth? 
Just a clod, a bump on nature, just a-clut- 

terin' the earth! 
An' 'twas whilst I was a-thinkin' these 

strange thoughts we come to where 
She was standin', leanin' over the old ruint 

wall; her hair 

117 



Sort of frsizzled round her forrid, was a 

golden sort o' fuzz; 
An' her eyes was the same color that the 

mornin' glories was; 
An' she had Jones' little girl, Tad's sister, 

along o' her, 
An' was snugglin' her an' talkin' when we 

come to where they were. 

And we neither one said nothin', didn't 

have a word to say, 
An' the children went together for to git 

us a bokay. 
An' a bird away off somewhere sung 

ka-hoot, ka-hoot, ka-hoot; 
An' I stood a while a-lookin 'at the worn 

toe of my boot. 
An' then I looked into her eyes an' looked 

right away again, 
An' after awhile when I looked back her 

eyes was lookin' in 
My eyes, an' then she looked away as 

fluttered as she could be. 
An' I heard my voice a-sayin': "Would 

you marry up with me?" 
118 



An' then the pinkest rose-flush run all 

across her neck, an' run 
To her cheeks, like paints the apple on the 

side that's near the sun, 
An' her answer was just whispered, but it 

raised me by the hair 
An' set me down right in heaven where the 

happy angels air! 
An' I said: "I can't help wonderin' why a 

girl as sweet as you 
Has gone single?" An' a glimmer lighted 

up her eyes o' blue. 
An* we sorter leaned together, where the 

mornin' glories climb. 
An* she said: " 'Twas your fault, Jasper, 

but I knowed you'd ask sometime." 



119 



RAIN-WET 

YT rained last night, and the whole wide 
* world 

Looks sweet and clean as it ought to be; 
Like a baby bathed and dressed and curled, 

And eyes a-glint with a baby's glee; 
And pink and purple and azure blue 

The morning glories look fresh and 
sweet; 
And fresh red roses are wet with dew, 

And grass is softer beneath the feet. 
And ever3rwhere, where a rainbow hit 

A jasmine bud it has opened up. 
And a gem lies at the heart of it; 

And a gem lies in the lily's cup; 
And trees look fresher and twice as cool. 

And twice as green as they were last 
night. 
And children wade in a wayside pool. 

Splashing and shrieking in mad delight. 
120 



What a good old world! How clean and 
sweet 

The busy old world is after all! 
Its shaded paths coax our weary feet, 

And every morning the mocker's call 
Comes with the very first streaks of dawn, 

With all the beauty the day-dawns hold, 
And all the fears of the night are gone. 

And the morning is azure and gold! 

And babies lift as the glories do. 

Their fresh sweet faces and nod and 
smile. 
The grass is green and the skies are blue 
And life is sweet and is well worth 
while; 
Whatever fate may be holding back 

The strength to bear it is given when 
Fresh out of the night and storm and 
wrack 
The world comes bringing its youth 
again. 

The cattle low and the butterfly 
Flies lazily past the blossoms sweet, 
121 



And perfumed breezes are drifting by 
And bending daisies and meadow-sweet; 

Whenever the tasks of life are done, 
And our marching banners dipped and 
furled, 

May that land past the westering sun 
Look half as good as the rain -wet world. 



122 



SUGAR LUMPS 

¥ ET us go away off yonder down a path 

'^ that used to be, 

'Way across the little footbridge, 'way 

beyond the apple tree; 
Skirt the hill the way we used to, skirt the 

ruffled wayside pool, 
With our books and slates and pencils, to 

the little country school; 
To the room with its long blackboards 

where we labored every day. 
To the yard where during recess boys and 

girls played pull-away. 
Or the girls, off in their corner, would play 

prisoner's base, and run 
Full of happiness and gladness, full of 

laughter in the sun. 



123 



Let's go back to a far springtime where the 

mellow sunlight shines, 
To the little girls we loved then; who 

inspired our valentines; 
Girls whose locks were golden yellow, girls 

whose eyes were cobalt blue, 
Girls to whom we wrote in loving: "Sugar's 

sweet and so are you." 
Girls in pinafores and collars, starched and 

clean as they could be. 
Girls who 'way across the schoolroom used 

to smile on you and me; 
Let's go back, away back yonder, down 

the paths we used to know. 
To the "sugar lumps" we loved so in the 

happy long ago. 

You remember I am certain how our 

hearts would throb and race, 
How those days all of a sudden I began 

to wash my face 
And to keep it washed, and how you used 

to comb and brush your hair, 
And we scrubbed our necks until we were 

the cleanest, pinkest pair 
124 



Of schoolboys in the whole village, and 

how father used to grin, 
And the look that mother'd give us when 

we'd come a-marchin* in 
With a flower pinned onto us. How she*d 

love and squeeze us two! 
Oh, the girls away back yonder! Naught 

could cut our love in two! 

Oh, the girls away back yonder! And the 

perforated scrolls 
That each year took them our message; 

heaven bless their little souls! 
Just the memory of their sweetness and 

the days that used to be 
Makes that time away back yonder seem 

the best in life to me! 
Years have stretched their length between 

us as the years are wont to do. 
Severing the loves we used to swear no 

knife could cut in two; 
But when springtime wakes the blossoms 

and warms up the out-of-doors 
Memory goes back and snuggles by the 

girls in pinafores. 

125 



JUST COIN* TO DAWDLE ALONG 
THE WAY 

I AM goin' to laze along, 
Pausin* to hark to every song 
Of bird an' breeze an' brook an' tree, 
An' every kind of minstrelsy 
The world knows, an' sings; an' all 
Of it, its littlest wee call 
Will git response from me, an' I 
Shall dawdle 'long beneath the sky; 
Just like a feller waitin' till 
Th' first call o' the whippoorwill 
Tells him it's courtin' time; th' time 
When life seems flowin' to a rhjrme. 

Goin' to wait like that I be, 
Till your glad feet ketch up with me; 
Till you, 'cross fields o' babyhood 
An' youth an' truth, an' all that's good 

126 



Have come to me; have tripped along — 
Just like the spirit of some song 
Your mother used to sing to you 
Had grew an* grew an' grew an* grew, 
Until the song got so blamed small 
It couldn't hold it in at all, 
An' it had had to crystallize 
Into a woman with glad eyes. 

Had had to be a livin' thing! 
A livin', breathin', sweet — By jing! 
Th' promise of what you will be 
Fills up this heart inside o' me 
Till I feel like she's 'bout to bust! 
An' then again I sort o' just 
Wish you would stay a little girl; 
With every little tousled curl 
Just like it was; an' always glad 
To snuggle in the arms of dad, 
An' sigh, an' drop away to sleep 
With him a-lovin' you a heap. 

Heigh-oh! Oh-hum! My eyes gits dim 
A-thinkin' things, an' over-brim 
With tears; but men don't never cry — 
127 



It's prob'ly smoke. I wonder why 

I wasn't took? Your ma would be 

Ten times a better man than me 

To bring a girl up; but I guess 

God sort of knows His bizziness; 

Men can earn more — I *spose it's best — 

Well, it's time that you was undressed 

An' said your "lay me down to sleep — " 

Dad's still here, lovin' you a heap. 



128 



THE LONG SWEET-SMELLING 
DAYS 



T 



HE ox-driver with his goad, 
And the oxen with their load, 
And the up-and-down and winding, dusty, 
townward wending road. 
And the blue jay on a rail 
Switchin' of his sassy tail. 
And a-scoldin' in a language that don't 
never seem to fail. 

And the whirrin' of the mill 
Over yonder by the hill. 
With the buzzin' of its sawin* sort of 
minglin' with the rill, 
Till afur it sort of seems 
Like the singin' heard in dreams, 
Like the liftin', ripplin', liltin' of the 
dreamland bordered streams. 

129 



An* the long sweet-smellin' days 
Bloomin' from a sort of haze 
Every mornin', that drifts backward leavin' 
dewy country ways 
Stretchin' far an' straight ahead, 
Blossom bordered an' all spread 
With dust-layin' dew, and softer than a 
carpet to the tread. 

An' I'm sorry till I frown 
Thinkin' of the folks in town, 
With their hurryin', worryin', an' rushin' 
up and down, 
Glad to simply work and live; 
Never knowin' when they've striv 
Any gladness like the gladness that the 
country ways can give. 

I may never, never know 
Nights o' jostlin' to an' fro 
Where the theayters are crowded an* the 
streets are all aglow; 
But I know of bush an' tree 
An' the heavens over me. 
An' my happy red-cheeked babies make me 
glad as I can be. 
130 



MACHINE LIMITATIONS 

I'D love to sit by this machine 

*■ And slowly touch the yielding keys, 

Till the whole world should see the sheen 

Of Rocky River through the trees; 
See the slate cliffs I used to know, 

And see the spider-webby span 
Of the bridge known so long ago, 

Away back where my life began. 

Vd love to take the world with me 

Across my white typewriter keys. 
Until the whole wide world should see 

The things I see, feel the same breeze 
Upon its cheek; should go and wade 

With me across the shallow ford; 
And climb the cliff's face, unafraid. 

And drink with me from the old gourd. 

The keys are unresponsive things! 
They never quite interpret right 
131 



The song that's in one's heart, and sings 
Its throbbing notes out to the night; 

The song of youth and gladsome days, 
The song of blossomed slopes and bees, 

The song of sumach bordered ways, 
And forest glades and shady trees. 

They never can quite make the world 

See the rare color in the air — 
As if the sunset banners furled 

Had left their sweetest colors there; 
A color warm as sweetheart lips! 

A color holding all the gold 
Of truant locks, pink as the tips 

Of little fingers known of old. 

Let my stiff fingers stray across 

The iv'ry faces as they may, 
I cannot make the branches toss, 

I cannot make the roses sway 
The way Vd like the world to see. 

The way Td like the world to know. 
Or the whole world would sing with me 

Sweet love songs of the long ago. 

132 



A CASE O' CANT HELP IT 

IT'S just a case o* can*t help it with me, 

■* By gee! 

It's a case o' can't help it with me, 

Whoopee ! 
When I see a tow-headed boy or a girl, 
I feel like I'd like to just kiss every curl. 
And grab 'em right up and just give 'em 
a whirl; 
It's a case o' can't help it with me! 
It's a case o' can't help it with me. 

By jing! 
For it makes me feel glad as can be. 

And sing? 
My heart beats in ragtime! And hanmiers 

around. 
My feet do a rhythmical stunt on the 
ground, 

133 



I feel I could grab 'em and waltz 'em 
around! 
It's a case o' can't help it with me! 

A sweet tow-headed, glad, little girl, 

Ah, me! 
Or a boy! How they set me awhirl. 

By gee! 
I simply can't help it! I git full o' laugh, 
I tell 'em hello, an' I joke an' I chaff, 
I caper an' prance like a big yearlin' calf; 
It's a case o' can't help it with me. 



134 



IF I HAD MY WAY 

¥ F I had my way, and money to 
^ Do all the things I should like to do, 
I'd give a chuckle and laugh and shout 
And wipe the orphan asylums out! 
Each heart which craves for a baby boy, 
Or little girl, with a throb of joy 
Should get her wish and tight to her breast 
Each one should clasp which she loved the 

best; 
An* croon songs to it when it grew late. 
An* I would chuckle an' pay the freight. 

There are lots who long for babies small, 
To hear them patter along the hall; 
Who walk sad-hearted and all alone, 
Without a baby to call their own; 
And that's where I would come in, by jing! 
And orphan 'sylums would all go, bing! 

135 



rd stoop and kiss every up-turned face, 
An* leave that *sylum the lonest place 
That you ever knew, without the call 
Of a laughin', rompin* babe at all! 

Or, if I but had the money to 
There's another thing I b'lieve I'd do — 
I'd put them other folks on the shelf 
An' mother the whole big bunch myself! 
And days we'd romp, and would laugh and 

play. 
Out over the hills and far away; 
An' nights I'd sit by a big grate fire 
An' tell 'em tales whilst the flames went 

higher; 
An' pray to the Lord each soul to keep. 
As fast as they snuggled down to sleep. 

Till angel mothers peeped through the 

night, 
An' said: "He's got 'em an* they're all 

right!" 
And when they grew tired of romp and run 
A tender woman should love each one, 

136 



An* when they waked in the morning blue, 
All pink an* dimpled an* eager to 
Get out an* run in a happy crowd, 
Vd snuggle them till they laughed out loud; 
An* they*d be glad as the bees that buzz. 
An* 'ud never know what a spankin* was. 



137 



TOGETHER 

'T'HE sun shines as warm, and the world 
*• is as young — 

But we — we are older; 
And sweet were the songs that the wild- 
birds have sung, 
But days have grown colder; 
And bleak winds are swooping down out 
of the skies, 
Are swooping and blowing; 
The red rose we loved is all wrecked, and 
it lies 
Where erst it was growing. 

Once life was all youth, and bright red 
was its mouth. 
And pouting for kisses; 
But now the sweet songsters have flown 
away south; 
One listens, but misses 
138 



The call of the mocker concealed in his tree, 

The cardinal's calling; 
A cold wind is blowing in off from the sea, 

And shadows are falling. 

Do you care? Are you sad that birds are 
away; 
Sad, dear one, and grieving? 
Do you care that your locks are sprinkled 
with gray? 
That gold locks are leaving? 
We have walked up the trail from glad 
days of youth. 
In hand and together; 
Have laughed loud in glee at the shadow 
of ruth; 
Have laughed at the weather. 

We have walked with a laugh where 
blossoms are tall. 
Hands clasped, through the meadows; 
Have loved and have laughed, hand in 
hand through it all; 
Let's laugh at the shadows! 

139 



Let us romp as we did, our laughter be 
clear, 
For all the wind^s blowing! 
Death*s the grandest venture of all, and 
it's near; 
Let's laugh and be going. 

Let's laugh as we go down the path to the 
vale — 
Let's laugh at the going! 
The red rose is dead, and the white rose 
is pale. 
And cold winds are blowing; 
But love's all about us, the sun is as warm. 

There's just as glad weather; 
Your hand in my hand, then who fears any 
storm! 
We're going together! 



140 



JUST A TOUCH OF LONGING 

pvO I miss the old home? Why, 
•■^ I do miss the punkin pie 
That I got my fill of when 
Autumn had rolled *round again; 
Punkin pie as big around 
As a cartwheel most, and browned 
Just the sort of brown that melts 
In your mouth like nothin* else! 
Do I miss the old home? My! 
I DO miss the punkin pie. 

And I miss the killin' time! 
Hog backbone and spareribs! Vm 
All right till I start to think 
Of the spring, an* how Vd drink 
Out of it, a-lyin' down 
Sprawlin* right out on the groun* 
So's my lips could reach the spring; 
Bet there ain't another thing 
141 



In the world that can compare 

With that bubblin' spring back there. 

An' I miss the cattle some, 
Miss the cows. God made 'em dumb, 
But their eyes 'ud seem to be 
Sayin' worlds of things to me. 
When rd go into their stall 
An' I'd pat each one and call 
Her by name, an' she 'ud turn 
An' her big ca'm eyes 'ud burn 
With love for me. They was dumb 
But I miss the cattle — some. 

An' nights when the sticks 'ud fall 
Inter coals, an' when the hall 
Would be full of ghosts, to scare 
Little boys until their hair 
Would feel prickly — Do I miss 
The old home, the mother-kiss — 
Well, this is 'twixt me and you 
I 'bout half believe I do! 
An' I always sort o' sigh 
At the thought of punkin pie. 

142 



RESTING WITH NOVEMBER 

"you could hardly tell November by the 
* weather; it's so clear 
That sky-scrapers in the city, miles away, 

look just as near 
As the bunch of trees off yonder, and the 

wildbirds seem to sing 
Just as sweet a song as ever they sung to 

us in the spring; 
And the trees, as fur as I see, are a-lookin* 

'bout the same, 
'Ceptin* now and then a sweetgum is 

a-bustin' into flame. 
An' I never felt more fittin' to chop wood 

or go an' plow, — 
An' I never felt less like it than I happen 

to right now. 

My old blood seems fairly rompin', like red 
licker, through my veins; 
143 



An' I ought to drive the hosses, with 

a-rattlin* of their chains, 
Where fall plowin* is a-waitin*, an* there's 

other things to do; 
But the air is so perfumey, and the sky is 

such a blue, 
An' the roses are so bloomin', and the can- 

nas such a red, 
An' the violets so smilin' where they're 

hidin' in their bed, 
An' the whole world looks so restful, it 

should be ag'in' the law 
For a man to do a thing but stand around 

and chew a straw. 

I would like to stand out yonder by the 

front fence, stand all day, 
So's to see the city people in their autos 

hike away 
For a day out in the country, for to spin 

across the hills; 
Where the sweetness of November just 

wells up and overspills 
Till no one can help but get it, get full of it 

through and through, 
144 



Of the redness of the cannas — but as 

certain as I do, 
When I'm half lost in my dreamin*, an' 

have stood out there a spell, 
Some of them will stop an' ask me if I've 

got some eggs to sell. 

Then I'll have to quit my dreamin' to hunt 

eggs and such like stuff; 
An' the dream that I am dreamin' will have 

left me sure enough; 
So I dassen't stand out yonder where the 

autos hike along; 
If I want to dream in quiet, and to hear 

the mockbird's song, 
There ain't no place that's so quiet as 

behind the barn for me. 
Where the yellow sun is fallin', an' where 

people lets me be; 
Wife imagines I am workin', an* the 

honkers go on by; 
But I'm restin' with November, an* the 

wild birds, an' the sky. 



145 



THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 

JLM E? Happy? I could hop up a swaying 

*'* twig an* swing, 

If it was strong — I'm gittin' stout — an* 

sing an' sing an' sing 
Until the whole world turned its head to 

hear the music roll; 
An' still I'd sing, an' sing till I poured out 

my soul 

I could — till I poured out my soul in one 

last gasp o' glee, 
Perched right up an a swayin' twig on 

some tall Christmas tree, 
A-tearin' loose an' spreadin' out, so clear 

an' high an' long 
That all the birds 'ud hush, an' all the 

world be filled with song. 

146 



I don't know what it is that's got into me, 
I'm so glad! 

But somehow this is just the best Christ- 
mas I ever had! 

I think it must be just because love's piled 
up more an' more, 

Until there's more love in the world than 
ever was before! 

The little children on the streets — each 

little girl and boy — 
Are busier than teapots are, just bubblin' 

full o' joy! 
An' all the stores in all the town where 

tramplin' buyers shove. 
Have fairly got their walls bulged out, 

they are so filled with love. 

If each clerk had a thousand hands she'd 

have all she could do; 
But not a one is lookin' glum, an' not a 

one is blue; 



147 



They're filled with Christmas spirit till it 

shines out of their eyes, 
It's in the bundles they wrap up, an' in 

their sweet replies. 

I wish for them all that they wish, an' 

then a whole lot more; 
An' for the little bits o' tads just smilin' 

in life's door 
I wish a life of Christmases as glad as this, 

by jing! 
I wish I COULD perch on a twig an' sing 

an' sing an' sing! 



148 



